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Presently the sound of a loud chant was heard； and from the farthest point of the camp emerged a long line of warriors； hundreds and hundreds of them； all painted in red and black with horrible designs。 They were naked except the breechcloth and moccasins； and everyone waved aloft a tomahawk as he sang。
Still singing and brandishing the tomahawks； which gleamed in the red light； the long procession entered the open space； and danced and wheeled about the great fire； the flames casting a lurid light upon faces hideous with paint or the intoxication of triumph。 The glare of their black eyes was like those of Eastern eaters of hasheesh or opium； and they bounded to and fro as if their muscles were springs of steel。 They sang：
We have met the Bostonians* in battle； We slew them with our rifles and tomahawks。 Few there are who escaped our warriors。 Ever…victorious is the League of the Ho…de…no…sau…nee。
＇*Note： All the Americans were often called Bostonians by the Indians as late as the Revolutionary War。＇
Mighty has been our taking of scalps； They will fill all the lodges of the Iroquois。 We have burned the houses of the Bostonians。 Ever…victorious is the League of the Ho…de…no…sau…nee。
The wolf will prowl in their corn…fields； The grass will grow where their blood has soaked； Their bones will lie for the buzzard to pick。 Ever…victorious is the League of the Ho…de…no…sau…nee。
We came upon them by river and forest； As we smote Wyoming we will smite the others； We will drive the Bostonians back to the sea。 Ever…victorious is the League of the Ho…de…no…sau…nee。
The monotonous chant with the refrain； 〃Ever…victorious is the League of the Ho…de…no…sau…nee；〃 went on for many verses。 Meanwhile the old squaws never ceased to feed the bonfire； and the flames roared； casting a deeper and more vivid light over the distorted faces of the dancers and those of the chiefs； who sat gravely beyond。
Higher and higher leaped the warriors。 They seemed unconscious of fatigue； and the glare in their eyes became that of maniacs。 Their whole souls were possessed by the orgy。 Beads of sweat； not of exhaustion； but of emotional excitement； appeared upon their faces and naked bodies； and the red and black paint streaked together horribly。
For a long time this went on； and then the warriors ceased suddenly to sing； although they continued their dance。 A moment later a cry which thrilled every nerve came from a far point in the dark background。 It was the scalp yell； the most terrible of all Indian cries； long； high…pitched； and quavering； having in it
something of the barking howl of the wolf and the fiendish shriek of a murderous maniac。 The warriors instantly took it up； and gave it back in a gigantic chorus。
A ghastly figure bounded into the circle of the firelight。 It was that of a woman； middle…aged； tall and powerful； naked to the waist； her body covered with red and black paint； her long black hair hanging in a loose cloud down her back。 She held a fresh scalp； taken from a white head； aloft in either band。 It was Catharine Montour； and it was she who had first emitted the scalp yell。 After her came more warriors； all bearing scalps。 The scalp yell was supposed to be uttered for every scalp taken； and； as they had taken more than three hundred； it did not cease for hours； penetrating every part of the forest。 All the time Catharine Montour led the dance。 None bounded higher than she。 None grimaced more horribly。
While they danced； six men； with their hands tied behind them and black caps on their heads； were brought forth and paraded around amid hoots and yells and brandishing of tomahawks in their faces。 They were the surviving prisoners； and the black caps meant that they were to be killed and scalped on the morrow。 Stupefied by all through which they had gone； they were scarcely conscious now。
Midnight came。 The Iroquois still danced and sang； and the calm stars looked down upon the savage and awful scene。 Now the dancers began to weary。 Many dropped unconscious； and the others danced about them where they lay。 After a while all ceased。 Then the chiefs brought forth a white dog； which Hiokatoo killed and threw on the embers of the fire。 When it was thoroughly roasted； the chiefs cut it in pieces and ate it。 Thus closed the Festival of Thanksgiving for the victory of Wyoming。
CHAPTER XIII
A FOREST PAGE
When the survivors of the band of Wyoming fugitives that the five had helped were behind the walls of Fort Penn； securing the food and rest they needed so greatly； Henry Ware and his comrades felt themselves relieved of a great responsibility。 They were also aware how much they owed to Timmendiquas； because few of the Indians and renegades would have been so forbearing。 Thayendanegea seemed to them inferior to the great Wyandot。 Often when Brant could prevent the torture of the prisoners and the slaughter of women and children； he did not do it。 The five could never forget these things in after life； when Brant was glorified as a great warrior and leader。 Their minds always turned to Timmendiquas as the highest and finest of Indian types。
While they were at Fort Penn two other parties came； in a fearful state of exhaustion； and also having paid the usual toll of death on the way。 Other groups reached the Moravian towns； where they were received with all kindness by the German settlers。 The five were able to give some help to several of these parties； but the beautiful Wyoming Valley lay utterly in ruins。 The ruthless fury of the savages and of many of the Tories； Canadians； and Englishmen； can scarcely be told。 Everything was slaughtered or burned。 As a habitation of human beings or of anything pertaining to human beings； the valley for a time ceased to be。 An entire population was either annihilated or driven out； and finally Butler's army； finding that nothing more was left to be destroyed； gathered in its war parties and marched northward with a vast store of spoils； in which scalps were conspicuous。 When they repassed Tioga Point； Timmendiquas and his Wyandots were still with them。 Thayendanegea was also with them here； and so was Walter Butler； who was destined shortly to make a reputation equaling that of his father； 〃Indian〃 Butler。 Nor had the terrible Queen Esther ever left them。 She marched at the head of the army； singing； horrid chants of victory； and swinging the great war tomahawk； which did not often leave her hand。
The whole force was re…embarked upon the Susquehanna； and it was still full of the impulse of savage triumph。 Wild Indian songs floated along the stream or through the meadows； which were quiet now。 They advanced at their ease； knowing that there was nobody to attack them； but they were watched by five woodsmen； two of whom were boys。 Meanwhile the story of Wyoming； to an extent that neither Indians nor woodsmen themselves suspected； was spreading from town to town in the East； to invade thence the whole civilized world； and to stir up an indignation and horror that would make the name Wyoming long memorable。 Wyoming had been a victory for the flag under which the invaders fought； but it sadly tarnished the cause of that flag； and the consequences were to be seen soon。
Henry Ware； Paul Cotter； Sol Hyde； Tom Ross； and Jim Hart were thinking little of distant consequences； but they were eager for the present punishment of these men who had committed so much cruelty。 From the bushes they could easily follow the canoes； and could recognize some of their occupants。 In one of the rear boats sat Braxton Wyatt and a young man whom they knew to be Walter Butler； a pallid young man； animated by the most savage ferocity against the patriots。 He and Wyatt seemed to be on the best of terms； and faint echoes of their laughter came to the five who were watching among the bushes on the river bank。 Certainly Braxton Wyatt and he were a pair well met。
〃Henry；〃 said Shif'less Sol longingly； 〃I think I could jest about reach Braxton Wyatt with a bullet from here。 I ain't over fond o' shootin' from ambush； but I done got over all scruples so fur ez he's concerned。 Jest one bullet； one little bullet； H